Marceline Leon’s imagination was terrible to witness.
Her dreams were the stuff of nightmares, and if she told them to you, in her soft, sweet voice, you would wish she hadn’t.
Born in 1895 to a French family which consisted of the mother, father, three daughters, and four sons, on the outskirts of town. Marceline spoke both French and English passably well, enough to terrify the listener.
Her words crafted images, and breath breathed life into the visions.
Between 1898 and 1902, six people were hospitalized, four more placed in sanitariums, and at least three committed suicide, all because of what Marceline spoke of.
She would whisper into people’s ears and pour out her fears. In a matter of moments, those fears would become realized.
Goblins and trolls, giants and wicked kings. The stuff of fables and myths, they would vanish once blood had been drawn.
On December 13th, 1903, Marceline screamed from her room at the top of the stairs, howling about the presence of a great and dark goblin beneath her bed.
When her parents reached the room, Marceline and her two sisters were gone. Blood was splashed across the walls, and trails of the same lead beneath the bed, vanishing into the shadows.
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